


the missing kind of misery

by sunflower_8



Series: amasai week 2020 !! [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Melancholy, Sad, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: his thoughts keep returning to the same place: he’s losing time, coming to the docks just to walk around and organize his mind. his friend, mukuro, recommended he come here just to relax, but it’s clear he can’t. nothing about the waves lapping at the ports is easing his mind, especially since…i’m not going to find shuichi here.(or, rantaro walks near the docks of america and thinks about those he lost)
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi
Series: amasai week 2020 !! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665994
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	the missing kind of misery

rantaro didn’t lose any of his sisters here.

he knows this, and yet, in every waking moment, he thinks he sees a familiar face walking past him, chatting on the phone and walking into shops. his fingers twitch to reach out and grab them, search in their eyes for betrayal, love, happiness, confusion--  _ anything _ \-- but he refrains. he’s found them all, anyway, so it’s really just a force of habit.

(four of his sisters were dead by the time he found them, so maybe he’s still in the denial phase, hoping one of them would be sitting on the american east coast, waiting. he saw the bodies, though. 

he’s seen too many.)

he sighs to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as he keeps walking. he has no real reason to be here; it’s claustrophobic due to tourists walking around to look at the dock and landmarks. still, he doesn’t want his bus ticket to go to waste, so he endures the seaside wind and cold as he allows himself to think.

his thoughts keep returning to the same place: he’s losing time, coming to the docks just to walk around and organize his mind. his friend, mukuro, recommended he come here just to  _ relax _ , but it’s clear he can’t. nothing about the waves lapping at the ports is easing his mind, especially since…

_ i’m not going to find shuichi here.  _

shuichi saihara was his first boyfriend, aside from short-term relationships ended by rantaro’s lack of emotional vulnerability. he was a detective-- one of the best-- and always supported rantaro’s endeavors to find his sister. shuichi accompanied him as he searched, and he was there when he found the dead body of his youngest sister. he was  _ always  _ there for rantaro-

but evidently, rantaro was never fully there for him, because rantaro  _ lost  _ him, somewhere in the world, to a group of people with  _ guns  _ and  _ masks _ and there was no ransom call, so shuichi is probably dead, but rantaro  _ still  _ needs to keep looking because he has to see him again even if it’s a dead body, and he-

he closes his eyes and stops walking. he’s hyperventilating.

his hand clutches a photograph he keeps in his coat pocket and brings it out. he opens his eyes and looks at the polaroid: shuichi kissing his cheek with a lopsided flower crown. rantaro smiles at the picture even as tears well up in his eyes, because  _ god,  _ he misses shuichi so  _ fucking  _ much. 

_ i miss you, shuichi. do you know that? _

“hey, are you okay? sir?”

rantaro looks up to face the stranger, seeing a girl with dark hair and freckles. she seems a bit younger than him, tentative and uncertain. he shoves the photograph back into his coat and paints on a smile, sighing softly. “i’m good.”

“oh, okay. i’m sorry then. i, uh, thought you were upset, so i wanted to…” she trails off.

rantaro resists the urge to look at the polaroid even as his fingers wrap around it. “i was just contemplative. sorry to worry you.”

“you’re fine. have a nice day.” she smiles at him warmly before leaving, pulling out her phone and texting. rantaro watches her walk away until she makes a turn and disappears. even then, he still stands there, waiting, as if he’s already attached to a stranger who showed him one tiny bit of kindness, as if--

_ i’m way too fucking lonely. _

he starts walking again, his feet leading him to an ice cream stand without putting any thought into it. the interaction feels numb: he pulls out his money and accepts change robotically, taking the freezing ice cream into his hands. he doesn’t even know what flavor he ordered until he licked it.

pistachio.

it takes a few seconds to register, but when it does, it hits him like a train:  _ that’s shuichi’s favorite flavor.  _

tears well up in his eyes as he continues eating the ice cream, ignoring the urge to throw it away. he hears the loud laughter of people talking earnestly and longs to speak to them, to reminisce with them in nostalgia he has never felt, anything except the strong feeling of the  _ missing  _ kind of misery that he can hardly cope with. 

when he’s done with the ice cream, he calls an uber to pick him up, silent on the way back to his hotel room-

_ remembering all the hotel rooms they shared together, innocently sleeping on one bed and helping each other put on piercings or hats-- _

\--and it’s so fucking lonely without him.

**Author's Note:**

> photograph // ice cream
> 
> considering how much i love this prompt, i don't think i did it much justice. probably because i'm a dumbass who keeps consciously deciding not to edit my work when i HAVE A WONDERFUL PERFECT BETA. it probably doesn't help that i just recently wrote a scene very similar to this in a komahina fic i'm working on (it's missing the photograph but it involves ice cream in an identical setting)
> 
> as a matter of fact, my initial draft of the first prompt is in an almost identical setting to another scene in the komahina fic aforementioned. what the fuck. i think i just have things for ice cream in docks (thirteen year old self sharing vanilla ice cream with my best friend in chicago is quaking) and melancholy train rides. 
> 
> anyway, angst. sorry tox i know hurt/no comfort makes you cry but it be like that.
> 
> i do not have much written for the other prompts (read: i don't have fucking anything written for the other prompts)
> 
> thank u guys so much for the support this week (hi silveryyy :) thank u) i love u all


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